After Abhorsen
by Fjord
Summary: After Abhorsen, Lirael goes to stay with the Clayr in the Glacier, working at the Great Library. But when Nicholas Sayre comes to visit and Free Magic lies in wait, things could get ugly... chapter 9 up
1. A Message Comes

Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, I'd be a lot older, male, and live in Australia. But I'm not, so I don't. Got it? Good.  
  
Lirael strode along the corridors, right hand in her pocket. She had refused the offers to stay at Abhorsen's House or Belisaere, but taken up Sanar and Ryelle on their offer to bring her back to the Glacier. It had been almost a year since the binding and breaking of Orannis; she had had visits from Sameth, who brought her a golden hand and placed it on her wrist; Sabriel and Touchstone, when they could spare time; and Ellimere, who wanted to get to know her half-aunt better. Kibeth, she had to remind herself constantly, was gone. Mogget—Yrael—was gone as well, unbound. Probably off in some stream catching fish. Lirael allowed herself a small smile at that.  
The Clayr ignored her, for the most part; they had paid attention to her to tell her that she might have her old job back, if she pleased, and have a separate room. She accepted both, and had, over the course of the year, banished many Free Magic creatures from the Great Library. And catalogued many books, of course.  
Now she had been given a message from Sanar and Ryelle to meet them in a study off of the Library. Lirael frowned at that, but shrugged and continued on her way.  
  
She pushed the door open slowly and peered inside. Sanar and Ryelle, looking no older than when she first met them, smiled at her.  
"Greetings," said Sanar (unless it was Ryelle)  
"We have much to tell you," Ryelle said (or Sanar). One of them closed the door behind her and sealed it with Charter marks; the other gestured at another chair. Lirael sat, nervously.  
"Why did you send the message--?" asked Lirael, when it became clear that explanations were not forthcoming.  
"We have Seen something that concerns you," said the twins together, their voices blending.  
"What? I thought that you had never seen me..."  
"It was not you, Lirael," one of the two said. "Ryelle will tell you."  
Ryelle smiled comfortingly at Lirael, but she was not to be comforted. "A young man rides North, to our Glacier. His name we do not know, and we cannot show you the vision, but we do know that he is the one who you met over a year ago, on the Red Lake."  
Lirael thought back. "Nick!" she exclaimed, when she recalled the particular incident. "Nicholas Sayre. What about him?"  
"We have Seen his path," said Sanar, taking up the thread of the story from where her twin left off. "Free Magic creatures lay in wait for him, and the Life he brings. The Free Magic that still lies in his bones and his blood calls to them; the Life seduces them. None here have the talent to send them away," Sanar said, and Ryelle finished for her, "save you." 


	2. I'd like that

A/N: Sorry for the long long wait, I kind of... well I really did forget that I put this up. Eep! Anyway, there'll probably be two chapters today, just to make up for it...  
  
"Me?" Lirael looked, disbelievingly, from one face to another. "What do you mean? Why can't Sabriel do it? She's... Abhorsen."  
"Yes," said Ryelle, "and that post carries many responsibilities. The binding and breaking of the Destroyer did not mean the end of the Dead; if anything, they are now more dangerous without a leader. They attack towns in groups, singly, attacking hunting parties—" Ryelle stopped and sighed in unison with Sanar.  
Lirael suddenly saw the silver in their golden hair, the faint lines etched around their eyes. She looked down at the floor quickly. "All right," she said, unwillingly.  
Looking at the floor, Lirael didn't see the brief smiles that Sanar and Ryelle exchanged.  
  
Two hours later, Lirael and Nick sat facing each other in blue armchairs. Lirael had been persuaded to take a swift bath; the twins had insisted she switch her usual red library waistcoat for her surcoat, the stars of the Clayr quartered with the silver keys of the Abhorsen. They had also convinced her not to leave her right hand, the golden one, in her pocket.  
Nick and Lirael had exchanged polite greetings; now there was thick silence hanging over the room. Lirael was staring steadfastly at the floor, wondering why she had to be the one to talk to him; Nick was glancing uncomfortably around the room.  
"Did you come from Belisaere?" Lirael asked suddenly, looking up.  
"What?" Nick came out of his reverie, startled. "Oh, yes. In fact, Sabriel and Sam sent letters..." He fumbled in his pockets and came up with two letters, both creased a few times and wrinkled, but readable. Nick held them out to Lirael, who reached out to take them, unthinkingly, with her right hand.  
He gaped at it as she took the letters and slid them into her own pocket for reading later. "Your—your hand, it's..."  
Lirael glanced at her hand, then at Nick, and sighed. "Gold. I know. Sam made it for me, after... last year."  
"Oh." Nick didn't ask for a more elaborate answer. "Is it... can you use it?" he asked.  
Lirael nodded. "It's just like my hand, only gold. It... disturbs the Clayr, sometimes." She tucked it in her pocket. "How long will you be staying?"  
"A week, maybe." Nick looked around the room again. It was one of the receiving-rooms of the Clayr, for those who came to ask the Clayr to See their future. "Is it all like this?"  
"No," Lirael said, smiling. "I can show you around, if you'd like."  
Nick smiled back. "I'd like that."  
  
They spent several hours that day touring the Clayr's Glacier; for most of the next two days, Lirael showed him the Great Library. Nick trailed after her, taking in the information raptly. In the evenings Lirael taught him Charter Magic, at his request; his baptismal Charter Mark gave him the ability to learn it, but he did not know much yet. Sanar and Ryelle spent some of these times with them, giving advice to Lirael on teaching and to Nick on methods.  
The week passed quickly; on the last day, Sanar, Ryelle, Lirael and Nick met in the same room Nick had arrived in.  
"Will you be leaving tomorrow?" Sanar asked.  
"Yes," Nick said.  
At a meaningful glance from Sanar and Ryelle, Nick's eyes turned to Lirael as she said, "I'd like to see Sam again, and Sabriel, and Ellimere. And Touchstone—I mean Torrigan," she corrected herself.  
"Really? Sam'll be pleased, he's always moaning about having only Ellimere and a cityful of giggling girls to talk to," Nick said, grinning.  
  
Lirael smiled. "Yes," she said.  
"Then that's settled," Ryelle said, smiling. She and Sanar stood. "You will have to travel the land; _Finder _cannot take you to Belisaere, I am afraid. We will leave now, and let you pack." They swept out of the room, respledent in white robes with moonstone and silver circlets.  
Lirael stood up. "Well... I guess we'll meet back here tomorrow morning?" she asked.  
Nick nodded agreement, and Lirael left the room. He stared after her for a little while, then left the room himself to pack what was left of his things. 


	3. Shall We Be Off?

Disclaimer: if I owned these characters, I'd be off writing Drowned Wednesday. But I'm here, so I don't. 'Kay?  
  
A/N: Sorry, it kind of turned into a few days instead of just a little while... –innocent look- It was the play I'm in! We swears, by the preciousssss!  
  
Thanks to my reviewers.... apache tears, I might bring Mogget in... he /is/ spiffy. LaughingAstarael: -gasp- Okies, I'll update quickly. –wants more Sundered Blood-  
  
Once Lirael had turned the corner, she slumped against the wall. _Finder_... Swift on the heels of that thought came another: The Disreputable—no, Kibeth. Lirael still had to force herself to remember that sometimes, that her friend the Dog was Kibeth. Kibeth, then. Kibeth climbing out of her pocket, somehow—Lirael shook her head firmly, but didn't continue.  
"Are you okay?" Nick asked. Lirael started and whirled. She hadn't even heard his approach, so intent was she on the Dog.  
"Okay?" Lirael asked, unfamiliar with the Ancelstierran expression.  
"All right, I mean."  
Lirael tried to smile. "Um... yes," she said. A little white lie never hurt anyone, she told herself.  
A small part of her mind was shouting at her, You're staring! Lirael blinked and pushed herself off the wall. "Sorry," she said with a trace of a smile, and wandered on down the corridor. I wonder what the Dog—Kibeth—would have to say about that, Lirael thought. With a smile, she recalled what Kibeth had said on _Finder_ when told of Lirael's mission: "Good! Time you were bred." Lirael almost laughed, thinking of that. The Dog was so, so... exuberant.  
Lirael glanced up and found that she was standing in front of her door. Probably had been for some time, she thought without humor, and pushed the door to go in. Lirael lay down on her bed; sleep didn't come easily, but finally it did, and she slept soundly until dawn.  
It didn't take long to pack; mostly it consisted of putting on the gethre coat, slinging her bandolier of bells over her head, and buckling the scabbard of her new sword, replacement for Nehima, onto her belt. Lirael then slid her surcoat over her head, giving one last glance to the red waistcoat. It was probable that she wouldn't return to the Glacier, at least for a while, she knew.  
Lirael glanced around her room. All was in order; bed there, wardrobe there, table over there—she stopped and quickly strode over to the table. Resting on it was a small soapstone statuette of a dog, sitting and looking up hopefully; the dog's expression was exactly like that of Kibeth's when she wanted a bone.  
Before she could convince herself otherwise, Lirael slipped the statuette into her pocket. False hope, she knew, but she couldn't help keeping it safe. Just for memories, if nothing more. Memories—that lead to another thought. Lirael opened the small hidden drawer in the table and removed the Dark Mirror from it. _The Book of Remembrance and Forgetting_ she put in a pack with the _Book of the Dead_. After a quick stop at the kitchens to get some of the Clayr's infamous plate-sized cinnamon cakes, she was packed and ready.  
She strode down the corridors towards the room, her confidence increased by the sword at her side, the statue in her pocket, and the gethre coat on her back.  
Nick met her in the receiving room. He too was armed, with a sword that he bore awkwardly. Lirael wondered briefly if he'd been trained with the thing, but dropped the thought and concentrated on the polite conversation that somehow they had begun.  
"All right, then," Lirael said, forcing a smile. "Shall we be off?"  
Nick nodded, and held the door for Lirael as they walked out of the room. Lirael smiled a little at that, tentatively. Perhaps it was standard custom in Ancelstierre. Or perhaps it wasn't; either way, she had no way of knowing.  
Lirael came-to with a start as she realized Nick was saying something.  
"...bodyguard or friend?" He was smiling. Lirael concentrated on divining his meaning.  
"Oh. Um..." She shrugged. "No idea, actually. It was Sanar and Ryelle's suggestion."  
Nick grinned at that. "Drat those witches in their caves of ice with their presumptions."  
"I quite like them, really," Lirael said without thinking.  
There was a bit of a silence. "So are you really going to Belisaere?" was all Lirael could think of to say.  
"Yes. Why not? Sam's probably desperate for company other than his sister by now," Nick said, grinning again.  
"That's all you're going back for?" Lirael said, once more without thinking. "What an odd reason."  
"Well, we did go to the same school for what, twelve, thirteen years," Nick said reasonably.  
"True."  
There was another period of silence.  
"So... you're Sam's aunt?" It was clear that Nick still didn't quite understand, even after a year of Sabriel and Sam's company.  
Lirael almost sighed, but caught herself in time. "Yes. It's a long story."  
"We have time," Nick said reasonably.  
"I guess so." Lirael didn't really like explaining, but it would be rude not to, she told herself. "My mother was a Clayr, and my father was the Abhorsen before Sabriel. My mother... went to him, just a little while before he died. I suppose you could say I was... illegitimate." There was a sheen of tears in her eyes.  
There was a pause; Lirael swiped angrily at the tears, and Nick said, "So was Torrigan." He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to her.  
Lirael looked at him, surprised, and took the handkerchief. "He was?" Apparently he had gotten something out of his year-long visit.  
Nick nodded. "I haven't quite gotten the whole story yet, but he was in the Royal Guard, and I suppose that's why Kerrigor didn't kill him."  
The tears retreated, and Lirael held the handkerchief out to Nick. He took it and stowed it away again; Lirael looked around for the first time. They were on the path from the Clayr's Glacier, on the fourth bridge of seven that crossed the Ratterlin. Charter marks shone from the pavingstones of the path and the posts and railings of the bridge, reassuring and warming her with their strength.  
"Thanks," Lirael said, not sure if she meant the handkerchief or the story. She studied Nick as they walked along, giving him the scrutiny she had just put the pavingstones through. He was wearing armor in an old style, gethre like hers, but more simply made. He was wearing a surcoat over it; the device was of a falcon, or some sort of bird. (A/N: this is a made-up symbol. It represents an Ancelstierran.) His Charter Mark pulsed with inner light, but still a very small scent of Free Magic hung about him. He was in better health than when she had last seen him, Lirael noted. But he seemed less sure of himself; most of his bravado was gone.  
Nick shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of her gaze, and Lirael dropped her eyes to the pavingstones again, embarrassed to have been caught staring.  
"Sorry," she mumbled.  
Nick half-smiled and shrugged. "'S okay," he said, and winced at the Ancelstierren expression. "It's all right."  
"O..kay?" Lirael said, puzzled. "That's Ancelstierran, right?"  
"Yeah. It means... everything's all right," Nick said lamely. "I keep forgetting I'm not there anymore."  
"Must've been hard for you, coming here from Ancelstierre," Lirael remarked.  
"It... yes," he admitted. "The Dead, and Charter Magic, and..." He shook his head. "I think the hardest part was convincing old Uncle Edward (A/N: I couldn't find his name in the books... the CM of Ansceltierre anyway. If you know what his name is, PLEASE tell me in a review!) that I wasn't abducted," Nick continued, with a touch of his usual humor. Lirael smiled, but weakly. There was yet another piece of silence, both of them just walking along the narrow, Charter-spelled path, arms barely brushing inside the armor they both wore. 


	4. We Meet Again

Disclaimer: If I owned these characters I probably wouldn't even know what is. Do they have the Internet in Australia? Oh, probably. The short and short of it is, I don't. Own these characters, that is.

A/N: Yes, LaughingAstarael, very mature. –manages to keep a straight face—

The pavingstones under their feet were now scattered loosely with the Charter marks that had been proliferous before; soon they would die out altogether and the path would be only a beaten dirt track. But for now, the sun was high in the sky and they had stopped for lunch.

Lirael offered a cinnamon cake to Nick, who took it and inspected it.

"Is this quite edible?" he ventured to ask.

"Um." She swallowed. "Usually." That thought led her to when she had first given one to her half-nephew, Sameth, and then to him giving it to the Dog... Her eyes teared again, and she pretended the tears weren't there, taking a large mouthful of cinnamon cake to prevent any awkward questions.

"I see." Nick nibbled on the edge, and his expression changed from skeptical to thoughtful. "I say, this is good!"

Lirael managed a sort of half-smile from around her next bite of cinnamon cake. "The Clayr make it. It's sort of a specialty."

For a few minutes there was no noise but the biting, chewing and swallowing of cinnamon cake. Then Lirael was done. She brushed her hands off and stood. "We'd better be off, while the sun still shines. The Dead are least active at noon, and Free Magic.... well, it's a little bit discouraged." With those encouraging words, she swung her pack onto her shoulders. Nick stood, too, with a regretful glance at the rest of his cinnamon cake. He slipped it into his own pack, then slung it on and scrambled up.

"Ready," he said, adjusting the way the pack hung on his shoulders. He looked up and smiled, and Lirael smiled back.

"Good." She started them off at a faster pace than that of the easy morning; if they wanted to get to a village before dark, they'd need to go faster—plus, they were leaving the protection of the Charter Mark-ed path.

Nick strode behind and came up behind Lirael quickly, walking just behind her. After a few minutes he ventured to ask, "Wouldn't it be faster if we rode?"

Lirael glanced back at him and half-smiled, apologetically. "I can't ride."

"Oh."

There was an uneasy silence for a while. Lirael suddenly stopped; Nick nearly ran into her. The cause of Lirael's sudden stop was immediately apparent; a small white cat was fishing in the Ratterlin, delicate claws extended. Lirael glanced at the cat's throat, but there was no collar; nor was there a bell. Then she grinned—her guess at what Yrael would be doing once freed was correct. Fishing in a stream somewhere—though the Ratterlin wasn't precisely a stream as such.

Nick stepped backwards, trying not to step on Lirael's toes or anything and also to place where he had seen that cat before. Yrael looked around, tail twitching in irritation. His expression didn't change when he saw Lirael; if possible, his face became even more annoyed. Yrael turned back around to dart one paw in the water and drag a fish out that was nearly as big as himself.

Lirael took a few steps past the cat, seeing that Yrael probably wasn't going to attack her. But Yrael's face turned and looked up at her appraisingly.

"Hello, Abhorsen-in-Waiting," he mewed, and looked past her at Nick. He rubbed a paw over his nose and said in a weary voice, "We meet again, Nicholas Sayre. You aren't even able to die properly."

Now he had placed him. "You saved my life last time," Nick reminded him.

"Of course, of course. So did the Horrible Hound or whatever she was calling herself then." Yrael cocked his head to look at Nick, half-smiling. "And I was still in the service of the Abhorsens, then."

Nick blinked a bit at this, pondering what Yrael meant. Then it came to him. He flushed, embarrassed. He'd told Lirael most of what Kibeth had said to him in Death just before she sent him back, but not that bit... Nick found himself glaring at Yrael; the cat sat down nonchalantly and began to wash himself.

Lirael watched Nick, brow creased. "What does he mean?" she asked Nick.

"Oh!" He'd nearly forgotten she was there. "I—I don't know," he lied.

Yrael stopped licking his paw for long enough to say, "Wrong." He looked up at Lirael. "I wouldn't suppose you had some sardines, would you?"

"No," Lirael said, trying to keep her voice calm. "Besides, you have a big fish right there." She pointed to the fish Yrael had caught.

He glanced at it, then away, and pointedly began to wash again. "I shall tell you what you mean," he said slyly, "only if you give me... three tins of sardines."

"But we're going to Belisaere—there aren't any sardines there!" exclaimed Lirael.

"Yes, there are. Prince Sameth keeps them in his tower workroom."

"And you haven't raided them yet?" Lirael said skeptically.

"No. He keeps the door locked." Primly, Yrael once more began to wash.

"Why should that stop you—you're the Eighth Bright Shiner, by the Charter!"

Yrael, who had closed his eyes, opened one a slit and peered out of it at Lirael. "No," he said. "Not by the Charter. Outside of the Charter, perhaps. Not by it." To all appearances, the small white cat went to sleep. A moment later, though, the same eye slitted open and Yrael said, "Put me in your pack. If you give me sardines, I might tell you what I was talking about. Or maybe not," he added smugly.

Lirael sighed, exasperated. She slung her pack off her back and scooped the cat up, placing him inside and adjusting the weight accordingly across her shoulders as she swung it back on. Then she looked at Nick, who was staring sheepishly at the ground.

"We haven't got all day, Charter help us!" she snapped, then wished she hadn't. "Sorry, Nick."

Nick stood up, sighing as well. "I wish he wasn't coming with us," he muttered.

"If I don't, he'll probably magic himself into my pack and demand more sardines for having to do magic," Lirael said. "Yrael's like that."

Nick shrugged. "You've known him for longer than I have." Figuring that this was as close as they would get to agreement, Lirael nodded in reply and started down the path again.

A/N: Yusyus, wunnerful Yrael is here... hehehe. Sorreh for the short-ish chapter, if it is short-ish, that is. The main event was Mogget/Yrael coming in as a character... yay! Go Yrael! -waves around pompoms- Ooh. Plus! I want to rename my story, but I dunne know what to rename it. So if you have an idea for a title... tell me in a review! Yusyus.


	5. The One Who Did Not Go

Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, I would've already published 12 books. But I haven't even published one, ergo, I do not own these characters.

A/N: -pokes- I neeed more reviews... I neeeeds them, preciousssss. Also, sorry about the long wait... would've been shorter, but I went on vacation to Canadia! Um... Canada... sorry.

They found the village that evening, after dusk had fallen and shadows overtook the land. Lirael and Nick stood at the top of a small rise in silence, watching the village.

All the lights were out; the doors were closed. Lirael, studying the houses, could only see a faint flickering light from some hearthside fire, banked for the night.

"Already in bed," she said, beginning to walk down the slope. "We can find their Charter Stone, sleep by that for tonight."

"Won't there be an inn, at least?" Nick asked, hurrying to catch up with her and half-sliding down the incline.

"Probably, but the innkeeper is probably already asleep too," said Lirael. "And I forgot to ask Sanar or Ryelle for money. Ow!" This last was surprised; she stopped in her scramble down the hill and closed her eyes, grimacing.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Nick said worriedly, coming down the last few feet in a slide and arriving next to Lirael.

Lirael smiled weakly at the phrase. "My Death sense," she explained, opening her eyes. "It... startled me. Maybe they buried someone lately."

Nick frowned. "Death sense?" he asked.

"Oh. Sorry." Lirael paused for a moment. "It's... a feeling, a sense, that I get when people have died nearby, or there are Dead near. Sabriel has it, too, of course; she's the Abhorsen. And Sam. Ellimere I'm not sure about. And... something the Disrep—Kibeth said once... I think some of the Clayr must have it too."

Nick remained silent through this muddled explanation. "It just tells you if there's something Dead, then. Doesn't sound too useful to me."

"If I can touch whoever's dead, I can sense how long they've... been dead," Lirael answered absently, staring down at the town. "And if they're brought back from Death, like Hands, or Mordicants are, by a necromancer, it tells me what sort they are. Right now, though, it's just twinging." She sighed. "We should keep going," she said half-heartedly, but started down the hill again anyway. Nick followed.

They arrived at the bottom of the slope dusty but unharmed; Yrael hadn't woken, to the unspoken relief of both Nick and Lirael.

Lirael whispered a Charter mark, and light bloomed in her hand. She led the way through the darkened streets, light held high. Her Death sense pressed at her, but she pushed it away determinedly. Nick came behind, in a dim gloom—the light was weak and didn't do much but push back the darkness a bit. He stumbled over something, mentally swore, and looked down. The building he stood near was an inn, the sign visible even in the night and proclaiming it to be called the Sword and Trumpet. The something he had tripped over was a man's legs. Figuring that the man was drunk, Nick ran after Lirael's soft light and thought no more on it.

He found her staring numbly at the village's Charter Stone. The only Charter Stones Nick had seen were the Great ones, in the reservoir beneath the palace, but even so he could tell that there was something wrong with this Charter Stone.

"Broken," Lirael muttered. "Why did they not See this, so close to their Glacier?" She shook her head slowly, then turned it to look at Nick. Both of them looked back at the flickering lights they had taken for hearthside fires. Lirael swallowed, bile rising in her throat, Death sense rising unchecked and almost overwhelming her. She stepped backwards, and stepped again, until she was out of its influence enough to reach into the Charter. Lirael plucked two out of its neverending spiral, and whispered their names to herself as her light brightened, throwing everything into sharp relief as light flowed over it. She blinked back tears at its brilliance, as did Nick. Together they walked to investigate the town once more, Lirael loosening her sword with one hand and repeating the names of the bells and their uses to herself, should the need come to ring them.

The fires were the dying embers of a fire that had swept the town, blackening buildings and collapsing inner structures. Dead lay in almost every house; the man Nick had taken for drunk was dead, throat slit. Some of the bodies were headless, and others were not. Lirael walked among them all, tense, awaiting an attack from any quarter. Nick followed, sword hilt clenched in one hand, posture stiff. Finally, after what seemed an eternity had passed, they had seen all the dead, walked through all the houses. Lirael stopped in the middle of a street and glanced around.

"They're all gone," she said softly, disbelievingly. "The Clayr should have Seen this. They should have prevented it." She looked around again, expecting to see one child left, one of the elderly, one adult in hiding. "Even their Charter mages," Lirael said. "What did this?" She strode back down the street, into the heart of the village, toward the broken Charter Stone. A Charter Mage lay there, throat slit, sightless eyes open. Lirael swallowed and gently closed the mage's eyelids, then stepped back to draw marks in the air. Nick nearly asked what they were, but stopped himself and simply watched as she completed the last one. Flames licked up, leaning away from the broken Stone as if in a wind. All was ashes when the fire burned out. Lirael sighed heavily. "Go swiftly," she said to the ashes. "And do not look back."

Yrael wound his way out of her pack and onto her shoulder, green eyes intrigued. His tongue darted out to taste the air, then drew back. Yrael looked startled, but quickly sank back into his usual mocking half-smile. He glanced around. "I notice you have failed to procure sardines, Abhorsen-in-Waiting," Yrael said lazily, draping himself across Lirael's shoulder and winking slyly at Nick.

Nick frowned and almost spoke, but thought better of what he was planning to say. "They're dead, Yrael, all dead," he said harshly. "How can you think about sardines?"

"Very easily," Yrael retorted. "People come, people go. Abhorsens come, Abhorsens go. Except for one..." A secret smile spread itself across Yrael's face, almost a smirk. There was a short pause, and Yrael said, "Well, if you really must send all these on, I'd suggest getting on with it. It's getting late."

Lirael sighed. "I suppose," she said, and slowly trod over to the nearest body, Yrael leaping easily to the ground. "Nick—"He came to watch as she slowly drew the Charter marks for cleansing, burning, peace and sleep in an order every Charter mage knew. An ember lit, and swiftly it lit into an inferno which settled into ash in mere seconds.

Nick nodded, and moved to the next one, Lirael following. They did that sequence together, then moved on separately, Lirael sure now that Nick knew the marks. Yrael watched as fire flared at different points within the village, then disappeared. He tasted the air again, and smiled in recognition. "The one who did not go," he murmured, and curled up on the ground, meaning to use the time wisely--sleeping.

A/N: Ooh! Dontcha just love foreshadowing? XDD Spiffy spiffy. Next chapter probably within a week... I hope... erm... don't kill me if I don't get it done. 'Cause it's a long walk back. –nods- Oh, and I would've written more in Canadia, but I fergot to bring my copies of the books. –tear- Well, anywho. I'm back now. Celebrate! Wh00!


	6. Someone Else's Problem

Random Disclaimer: I've run out of clever sayings. Um. If I owned these characters, I wouldn't be getting braces on Tuesday. Or maybe I would. –blink- Anyone have a copy of Garth Nix's schedule...?

Author's Note: All I can say, Clayr Child, is 'Rather a lot.' Fortunately with this chapter they'll have less time to have awkward silences in... yay?

The blast of a horn woke Lirael and Nick the next morning. They had chosen a spot as far away from the broken Charter Stone as possible while remaining on the grass. Yrael was already awake, smiling smugly to himself.

"W-what was that?" asked Nick, sitting up cautiously. "Or who?"

Lirael blinked wearily. "Well, it—"

Hoofbeats resounded in the air, and the horn blared again, a merry pattern. "It sounds like someone's coming," Lirael ended lamely. By the time the small party of horsemen got there, Nick and Lirael had packed up and were standing waiting for them. Neither of them, however, expected who the leader of the group would be.

"Sam!" Lirael ran forward. The cavalry dismounted as one and clustered around their Prince. One carefully stepped foward and, sword at the ready, held two fingers out to test Lirael's Charter Mark. Once he was satisfied, the guard slid his sword back into his scabbard.

"True," he proclaimed. A general sigh of relief ran through the watchers, and Sameth brushed past the guards to give Lirael a hug. He looked behind her and stared. "Nick?"

"He came to visit the Clayr's Glacier," Lirael explained, stepping back so Nick could come forward and greet his friend. "I decided to come back with him, to see you again. You've grown, Sam, haven't you," she added.

Sam glanced over from talking to Nick and laughed. "My old aunt," he said lightly. Lirael smiled.

"But how did you know we were here?" Nick asked Sam.

Sameth ran a hand through his hair. "Mother's out in the west again, taking care of a group of Shadow Hands. When we got a message from the Clayr, Ellimere decided I should go, with a few dozen of her hand-picked warriors." He waved at the ten or so guards. They laughed good-naturedly, gathering around their mounts to picket them. "They must've gotten their whens wrong again," he added, gazing out around the town.

Lirael nodded sadly. A small white shape trotted past Lirael's feet and sat primly, staring up at Sam with wide green eyes. "I trust you've brought sardines, Prince Sameth?" Yrael mewed.

"Where'd you find Mog--Yrael?" Sam asked Lirael, taken aback by the cat's sudden appearance.

"Fishing in the Ratterlin. He wants sardines," she added. "I don't know what you were thinking when you gave him the first ones, Sam."

"Neither do I," Sam said with a rueful smile. He looked down at the cat. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to call you, now."

"Yrael will do," the small cat said, licking his paw. He glanced up. "Sardines?"

"By the Charter, can you think of nothing else?" Sameth asked, annoyed.

"Very little," Yrael informed him tartly, and began to wash.

They left him sitting there, a spot of white against the burned walls of the town and the half-burned grass. Sam walked through the streets of the village, Nick and Lirael trailing behind. He brushed the edges of doorways, frowned at fallen roofs, and poked cautiously through piles of rubble. Finally he sighed. "If only—"Sam said softly.

"If only," Lirael agreed. "If only Nick and I had left a day before we did. If only the Clayr had gotten their whens right. If only someone had been here, if only we knew who did it..." She trailed off. There were too many 'if only's to speak of.

Sam nodded slowly. "If only."

The three returned to the village green. The guards were spread out around the town, investigating—much the same as Sam had done. Yrael was still sitting in the midst of it all, regarding the scene narrowly and with a touch of humor to his posture.

"Yrael." Sam came closer, narrowing his own eyes. "Who did this." The cat did not respond. "Who did this?" he asked, louder.

With a final lick, Yrael looked up at Sam. "A better question would be, who could not do this," he said. He left them with that, going who knew where—to carry on his own investigations, presumably.

"Who could not do this..." Sam echoed. "Not Hedge, and not—not Orannis."

"Chlorr," said Lirael softly. Sam's mind flew back to the memory of the golden mask, smoke billowing out of it as the Greater Dead behind the mask prepared for the killing stroke. From the look on Lirael's face, hers went back there too.

"Chlorr?" Nick asked. "Who—who's that?" He faltered at the expressions on Sam's and Lirael's faces.

Lirael sighed, a small sound, and turned to face him. "A necromancer, or she used to be. Now—she's one of the Greater Dead. Sam and I... saw her. Last year." When the Disreputable Dog was still alive. When she didn't know she was the Abhorsen-in-Waiting. When she still had a hope of gaining the Sight. "We—I—got Hedge, but Chlorr wasn't there. She's still out there, somewhere." Lirael waved at the mountains towering above them, the glacier, the river, the gently rolling hills. The thought scared her, a little. She reminded herself that if Chlorr was there, she was Sabriel's problem, not hers. Definitely not the job of an Abhorsen-in-Waiting who's known about her position for less than a year. No, Lirael told herself, not for me. Someone else's problem.

"Somewhere," Sam said bleakly. Reflexively he rubbed the scars on his wrists, reminded of necromancers in general, and Hedge in particular. "Hedge—he is dead, right?"

"Yes," Lirael said. "Very definitely." Both of them took confidence from the words.

Nick looked from one to the other. "I-I don't understand," he said, haltingly.

Sam sighed. "We can ride double, and at a faster pace, today." With a small smile at Lirael and Nick, he added, "I'd like to be back in Belisaere as soon as possible."

They nodded agreement.


	7. Belisaere

A/N: first update for... eep... what, a year? Well, not quite that. Eight months. Still, it's quite a long time. Boring disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, if I did I'd probably have a great deal more money than I currently do (ooh look, I found a quarter! I'm rich!). Sorry for the long wait, I keep forgetting to update. -wince- Please don't kill me, people.

They entered the city to the cheers of crowds; even in this short space of time, the people of Belisaere had heard of the Abhorsen-in-Waiting's arrival. It had taken them just under two days to travel the distance between the Clayr's Glacier and the capital city of the Old Kingdom, but nevertheless, Lirael was exhausted. She'd been forced to ride, despite her protests, and had had to bear with not only the challenges of riding, but Yrael's snide comments from his position in her pack.

Lirael stared around as they entered the great gates, trying to take it all in. The last time she'd been here was just after they'd defeated the Destroyer. They'd arrived at night, and she'd only stayed a few days, staying inside almost all of the time, before she left for the Clayr and the Glacier she called home; so her awe was understandable. The streets were crowded with people, more people than Lirael had ever seen in one place in her whole life--even more than lived in the entire Clayr's Glacier, and they were all so colorful, wearing a shirt of this color, a skirt of that, and a vest of a third. The Clayr had only limited clothing options, all depending on what service the person was performing for the Glacier at that time.

Sameth's horse at the front of the procession slowed, and he hung back to ride next to his half-aunt. "Impressive, isn't it?" he said, loudly, so his voice would carry over the cheers.

Lirael nodded, keeping her golden hand tucked firmly in her waistcoat pocket. She didn't attempt to speak over the noise, for the double reason of not having anything to say and not thinking that anyone would hear her if she did.

Five minutes later, the guards having cleared a path through the crowd for them, they reached the palace and Lirael had another thing to stare at. She slid clumsily down from the horse she'd been riding on and gaped at it.

Sameth dismounted briskly, as did Nick, who'd obviously had a few riding lessons while at the Palace. Both of them looked perfectly composed and ready to keep riding all day, if necessary, while Lirael felt limp and sore just looking at a horse.

"Let's meet in the solar in half an hour," Sam said. "Nick, you can show Lirael where it is. I'll get one of the guards to tell Dad we're back," he added. "He can meet us there, too. And Ellimere."

Lirael nodded, not really hearing what Sameth was saying. She was too tired from her ordeal of horseback riding to think about anything but a warm bath and then sleep, and possibly clean clothes somewhere in here.

Yrael's head poked out of Lirael's pack. "So we've arrived," he said. "Interesting. It seems you are some use for something after all, Princeling." He gave a sidelong, smirking glance at Sameth.

"And you," Sam said, "get to stay right here."

"Indeed." The little cat jumped to the ground. "Or perhaps I will ensure that my promise is fulfilled," he said, his eyes sliding up to Nick's face.

The Ancelstierran flushed. Sameth didn't see that, and said airily, "Of course, Yrael. Just not right now." Lirael frowned at Nick.

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh! Oh--um--no." Nick glanced away.

Lirael's drowsiness dulled her mind. "Good," she said vaguely, and began to walk toward the palace, though she didn't have any idea where she was supposed to go.

"Lirael, you can have... um... the blue guest room," Sameth said, following her. "I think that's free now." He glanced at the guards to make certain, but they were leading the horses away already. "Nick, your room's still there."

Nick nodded and looked at Yrael. The cat met his glance with a sardonic look; then Yrael trotted across the courtyard, following Lirael and Sameth. Nick sighed and tugged his surcoat down to hang properly, and then, with a hand on his sword hilt, followed the little cat into the Palace.


	8. You're Serious?

A/N: o0 I haven't read "The Creature in the Case" yet as I live in the USA, not the UK, so I probably won't get to read it for a while... so if I make any large errors, could those of you who've read it please tell me. Thanks.

Sameth splashed water over his face to rinse off the soap he'd just applied. He jumped at the light knock on his door. "Come in," he called, taking a towel off its hook to rub at his face with.

The door creaked open, but no one said anything. Sameth glanced in the mirror that hung on the wall above the basin of water and saw his friend Nick. "What's wrong?" he asked, turning to face Nick.

"Nothing--look, there's something I have to tell you," Nick said, stepping inside.

"Okay," Sameth said, leaning against the basin, tossing and catching the towel. "Go ahead," he said, when Nick didn't begin for several moments.

"Well--you know back last year, when you all thought I was dead? When Orannis--when Orannis was almost free?"

"Yes," Sam said, cautiously.

"I--I think I was dead, then. I was in a river, and there was this dog, she was about this big, tan and black--"

"The Dog," Sameth said, nodding. "She's Kibeth. She brought you back?"

"That's what she said. And she said--she said something about you making her that hand, like she already knew that was going to happen, and then--" Nick glanced at the floor, flushing.

"What?"

"She said that there were other injuries, or something like that, that had different cures, and she just i looked /i at me," Nick said in a rush. "I got... I got the impression she thought I was going to marry Lirael."

For a moment Sameth stared at his friend incredulously; then he laughed. He laughed for a good minute, while Nick stood helplessly, framed in the doorway.

"You're kidding," Sameth said, still laughing a little. "You're--you're serious," he said, finally catching the expression on Nick's face.

Nick nodded slowly.

"You and Lirael," Sameth said slowly. He shook his head. "So that's why you've been jumpy around her." A pause; then he added, "Mogget knows, doesn't he? Yrael, that is. I keep forgetting."

"Forgetting what?" said Yrael's voice, and a small white cat head poked around the doorframe. "Hopefully not my sardines, Prince Sameth."

Sameth glanced at Nick, who nodded. Sameth shook his head once more, still incredulous.

"Come on, Yrael," he said finally. "Let's go find you some sardines."

A/N: Hopefully this part should clear up some of the confusion that there was about exactly what Nick's secret was... I had fun writing it, too. Teehee, poor Nick.


	9. Isn't There?

A/N: Another long break--sorry about the irregularity of updating. -wince- Uh, disclaimer that I don't own these characters. Yeah. Oh yes, and I've recently obtained _Across the Wall, _not to mention "The Creature in the Case", so I will possibly be including some elements of that in further chapters.

"Aunt Lirael!"

Lirael couldn't help but smile as her niece swept her into a hug. A bath and clean clothes had done much to recover her well-being from the horseback ride to Belisaere. "It's good to see you too, Ellimere," she assured her. "Where are Sameth and Nick?"

Ellimere let go and stepped back, a frown settling on her features. "Nick didn't show you the way here?" she asked.

Lirael shook her head. "A servant took me," she said uncertainly.

"We should find them--there's no knowing what sort of trouble they could be in--"

The door opened, cutting off Ellimere's speech, and Touchstone entered the solar.

"Welcome back, Lirael," he said, striding forward. They clasped hands formally, and Lirael noted that he showed no signs of surprise at her golden hand. Sameth had probably told his father about it, she thought, taking a step back and smiling at Ellimere.

"Dad, Sameth and Nick--" Ellimere began, but was cut off once again by the door opening. Nick ducked his head as he entered, not meeting Lirael's eyes, but Sameth, who walked behind him, showed no signs of remorse. Yrael trotted behind Sameth, smugness in every line of the little cat's face, his tail waving like a banner.

"Sameth," Touchstone acknowledged. "Nicholas." His eyes widened. "Mogget?" he asked incredulously.

"Your senses as sharp as ever, I see, Touchstone," Yrael said, casting a derisive glance at the King. "Indeed, it is I...though I would prefer the name of Yrael, taking recent events into account."

It was, Lirael thought, a rather sly way of reminding Touchstone that there was no red leather collar now to keep Yrael from destroying Touchstone's wife.

"Indeed," Touchstone responded, his expression controlled.

"Dad," said Sameth after a moment, "when's Mother getting back?"

"Tomorrow, if all goes well," Touchstone said. "She took a Paperwing to Ganel a week ago," he told Lirael and Nick, who hadn't heard this before. "There was a report of three Shadow Hands." He crossed the solar to the wide windows that looked out over Belisaere and rested his hands on the sill beside him, staring out at his kingdom.

"Mother'll be fine," Ellimere said suddenly.

Touchstone nodded, and turned back to them after a moment. "There are still too many Dead, and too much Free Magic, abroad in this land," he said, and though his expression was the same as ever, Lirael heard the exhaustion in his voice. "With Orannis gone, most of them have fled, but..." He shrugged.

"Leaderless, they are more daring. There is no pattern to their attacks, no leader we can destroy to make them all retreat. Thankfully, they are also weaker, and come in smaller groups than before."

Lirael nodded, thinking of the Clayr in their glacial home, trying to See attacks and know when and where they would occur, usually succeeding but failing more often than anyone would've liked.

"But there--there is," Nick said into the silence that followed Touchstone's speech, and all of them turned to look at him. "A leader, that is. Isn't there? There's... there's--"

"Chlorr," Yrael finished for him, his green eyes fixed on Nicholas. "Very good, Sayre. We find a use for you after all."


End file.
